The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. ’ Trodger frowned, and chewed his lip. I’d do anything, Vee.
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